Unexpected Advocate
by WrittenOnTheSubwayWalls
Summary: An amateur villain attempts to steal Ratigan's place as World's Greatest Criminal by taking out the Professor's greatest adversary. Hm! Well, that just won't do.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer-** _I do not own GMD/The Great Mouse Detective and all characters and places related belong to Walt Disney Pictures_

 _A/N: Written as a sequel to Villain By Name, but it can stand on its own. Beware of language and violence (this is a villain's POV)  
_

 **A Hero of Sorts** ** _  
_**

* * *

...

 _Pathetic._

The professor rolled his eyes, left elbow leaning so heavily on an old wooden chair that he feared it would break.

Hm. Let it break. Maybe if he fell hard enough he'd have an excuse to leave.

 _"Oooooh so sorry, gentlemen, but it looks like I'm bleeding from my skull... Next Tuesday then?"_

HA! Well, one could dream.

It really was such a dull thing though. _Torture_. He should've skipped this infernal meeting, this stupid tiresome thing. He should've slept in, gone for a walk, had eighteen cups of tea, ANYTHING other than suffer through this damned circus. Was "playing nice" really all that important? They were supposed to be _criminals_ for crying out loud!

 _'Powerful_ criminals _.'_ The voice in his head amended. 'This is a meeting of _powerful_ criminals. Criminals that have resources we need.'

Ah Yes, he supposed that was true. It had only been two years since the headlines declared him an official danger to society. If he wanted to break away from the smalltime petty thieves he would have to wait at least another couple of years... _at least._

The rat sank lower in his chair, fishing for a cigarette case inside his tailored coat pocket.

Lord above, he was miserable.

Another dreadful year of sucking up to the already established Big-Bads of the city _?_ Ratigan didn't think he had it in him.

Time really did drag now that he was a full-time mastermind of dirty deeds. Only two years since his real name had been leaked to the papers, courtesy of a certain detective, but it had felt like ten! He'd lost his job, his home, most of his friends... Well, maybe he'd never really _had_ friends, but he'd lost dozens acquaintances! His whole life had been turned upside down and inside out in one night, one _single_ night... And now he would have to spend yet **_ANOTHER_** year groveling, letting these nitwits have their share! Letting them get their mediocre hands all other his precious plans! It was infuriating!

Each and every time he had agreed to collaborate, an overlooked mistake on _their_ end would cause Ratigan to lose the whole scheme! It would lead that blasted detective right to his doorstep and the REAL master of crime would end up swallowing the shame, taking all the blame in the papers and making it look like it was Ratigan that had made the "silly "error.

Silly Error... he'd show that little pipsqueak a SILLY ERROR! The next time he sees the detective, he'll silly error a bullet straight through his eye!

 _Basil of Baker Street._

That's what the brat called himself,

That arrogant boy,

That self-proclaimed genius,

And he _was_ quite the little genius, wasn't he? The villain thought at first that it had been some kind of ruse, some magician's trick that the detective could pin point such small seemingly insignificant details out of thin air and solve a case with them. Science and logic used so finely, so masterfully that he, Ratigan, had found himself almost... nearly...

 _Impressed?_

Alright, fine. He'll admit it was thrilling to have discovered such a mind. Finally, someone cunning enough to rival him. It was a secret he would take to his grave, but the detective's intelligence fascinated him. There was an odd hint of respect he found himself feeling towards the hero, a flicker of astonished amusement that he'd never in his life experienced.

Basil, in a way, was just like _him_!

Well, a _self-righteous_ version of him.

And through that comparison, it seemed the criminal had formed some sort of odd affinity.

He remembered the night they'd first met in the run down dinner house. It had been a dangerous thing to do, letting the hero go. He would often toss and turn at the memory of it. _'Stupid, stupid'_ he would repeat to himself. Basil was a worthy rival with the frightening potential to be Ratigan's downfall. Still, he'd let the detective go free. He'd sent him off unharmed to go tell his findings to the police and the papers and whoever else there was to tell. And while Ratigan had lost everything and anything that had ever seen the light of day, Basil of Baker Street became a household name that every mouse would read about in the papers.

He didn't recall _ever_ being angry at the detective over that. It seemed like the natural progression of things- That he would give up his anonymity for the notoriety?

 _ **THWUMP**_

A heavy fist pounding on the table snapped the rat back to the present with a painful jolt.

 **"** And what would _I_ do with a bunch of borrowed cash, huh Weitz? I'd have to return it eventually! Use your head!"  
 _  
Oh For the love of-_

"Money money _money,_ " One of the other more experienced imbeciles shouted. He was arguing with a young (overweight) mouse named Benjamin Bandon. Young Bandon was a rich family's failure, smart enough to think up a plan, too dumb to execute it.

Typical university student.

"You're a complete _fool,_ Bandon! You cannot build from nothing. You need money to properly steal _more_ money. It's all about money, I tell you!"

Ratigan had tuned out their bickering nonsense nearly twenty minutes ago. These mice were the usual type: over confident, semi-educated, and not at ALL to be trusted. Well what more could he expect from room full of criminals? _NONE_ of them were to be trusted, including himself! It was so exhaustingly pathetic. If these idiots considered themselves the potential kings of the crime world, the professor would sleep well tonight knowing that he had absolutely zero competition. His ascension to the top would be smooth sailing.

"Ah shut it!" Bandon snapped, spit flying across the table. The bark of it actually made Ratigan jump, ashes from his cigarette landing in his unfinished tea. "Every crook in this pub knows it's about how many henchmen you've got! The more mice behind you the better and I have a least a DOZEN more followers than all of you geezers combined!"

Elder Weitz was practically red with fury, not at all amused by Bandon's haughty display. Another prominent criminal to his left gestured to Ratigan with a calm hand. "Let's ask the room, shall we? What's _your_ opinion, Professor?"

 _My what?_

The rat pinched the bridge of his nose, massaging gently out towards his half-lidded eyes. _His_ opinion? _Really?_ How about: _'All of you are idiots and I wish you were dead.'_

But saying something like that wasn't "playing nice" now was it?

"The answer depends on one's circumstance." he said instead. Definitely not as fun, but it was true. There were many factors that went into being successful at this business, like any other business. One chef might need more spices to be successful, while another might need less spices and more vegetables. It simply had no specific formula. Crime was like cooking... more art than science. If you have a good taste for it, you'll be suc-

 ** _Ugh_ **listen to him! He sounds like he's preparing to give a lecture on it! Imagine? A lecture devoted to successful villainy?

"Anyway, you must have more pressing matters to discuss" He hissed, voice dropping to a dangerous low. His gloved hand gripped the arm of his chair, almost puncturing holes into the leather. "Or were you planning on wasting ALL of my time this afternoon, gentlemen?"

That seemed to do it. The room immediately stiffened with fear, all present swallowing loudly and looking down at their twiddling thumbs.

 _'They're afraid._ ' the villain thought with an air of superiority. And they _should_ be afraid, shouldn't they? Nearly every creature in the room was an enemy in some way, save for Fidget and two of his "smartest" thugs (not a compliment). Ratigan was known for being ruthless and he didn't mind. It meant that when he spoke, he was taken very seriously. Out of all the criminals in the room, Ratigan might have been one of the newest but he certainly wasn't the weakest.

 _'Give it another year.'_ He thought cruelly. Every single mess of a mouse in this room would either be working for him, or dead.

Relaxing back into his sophisticated facade, the rat casually tapped the end of his cigarette on the table and took another slow drag of it. He was on his second one. The ashes from his first were all over the table and floor. How unprofessional he must look: smoking, unengaged, wooden chair tipped back for him to balance on,

The perfect picture of boredom.

He was so sick of this. Business was business, he supposed, but he was breath away from murdering everyone in the room.

 _If only_

He'd kill off young Benjamin Bandon first, the twit. He was only sitting at the table because he had orchestrated a heist on six different estates in one year and had at least two dozen capable followers. Ratigan might've found the mouse's accomplishments impressive had he _not_ known that Bandon relied heavily on his little _fan club_ for everything. The robberies went down under his name, but the REAL masters of those heists had been his followers.

 _'Give it a year. A year. A year'_ He chanted. Bandon was doomed for ruin. Unless he suddenly found himself making headlines in the next four months, Ratigan foresaw the whole ring of thugs turning on him.

Smoke billowed out of the rat's lips like a tea kettle as his face scrunched up into a grin.

Over two dozen thugs turning on one plump little dinner roll? _Wouldn't that be something to see...  
_

The meeting went on without another word from Bandon. Weitz took over, pitching a half-constructed scheme to steal some opera singer's jewels and it took every ounce of Ratigan's control to stop himself from laughing. A diva's jewels were always borrowed. A traveling female would never burden herself with such things. Musicians were often very smart. The last opera singer he'd run into was so cunning he had offered her a job... and she accepted. The beautiful Miss Relda was a tool he kept close to his chest, a pretty thing with a knife up her sleeve and a tongue that could hypnotize in every language.

Beautiful,

Not that he was interested in _her_ like that, well maybe a little ** _-_**

"Are we finished here?" Bandon's squeaky voice spoke up at last, startling nearly everyone in the room.

The old mice all exchanged glances. Weitz even cocked an eyebrow in Ratigan's direction, but the rat refused to change indifferent expression. He wasn't intimidated by Benjamin Bandon. What kind of crime lord would he be if he was intimidated by a pastry?

"Finished, yes? Good! Well, since you're all here- " The chubby thing got up from the table in a rush, scurrying to the back of the room with far too much vigor. The other criminals began to stand as well, their nerves getting the better of them. They didn't have the foggiest idea what Bandon was hiding, but everyone had the same creeping suspicion that it was bad.

It was a click of a door to the outside that finally had Ratigan leaning forwad in his chair. Henervously looked over his shoulder, nodding to his goons to stand closer. Fidget was the first to make it to his boss' chair. The other two weren't' far behind.

"W-What's goin'- g-g-goin' on?" The bat pulled on his pant leg and hugged the back of the his chair.

 _Bandon was an idiot. What harm could an idiot possibly do to him?_

"Gentlemen," The back door slammed, and Bandon appeared once again. Trailing just behind him, were three of his henchmen...

No... No, not three...

 ** _Two_** of his henchmen. And in their arms was the seemingly lifeless body of ** _-  
_**

The rat's eyes widened. Smoke sitting forgotten in his chest until it burned.

With a snap of Bandon's fingers, the body was dropped unceremoniously to the floor with an unnerving _thump.  
_ The room was silent. No one moved, no one breathed, they just stared- _STARED_ at the corpse now lying in the center of the room, the prone figure not ten feet from the rat's chair,

Of course, it wasn't the dead body that shook Ratigan. He'd seen too many to ever be shocked silent again. No no... it was the _face_.

He knew that face. It was tipped towards him, eyes closed and expression not fitful or even restful, but blank.

"What?" The word fell from his open mouth like drool. "What _is_ this?"

The mice around him had all gathered closer, looking warily at each other before looking straight at _him_. They knew. They all knew who Bandon's victim was and who would be upset about it. The rivalry he had started with the detective was no secret. It was a name that was always on the tip of the villain's tongue

 _Basil of Baker Street._

And it was a odd sight, wasn't it?

All Ratigan's mind could do was fall back on his keen eye for detail, brain seeing everything and coming to its own conclusions. The thing looked like he might've just fallen out of bed, completely missing his signature articles of clothing including the usual waist coat and necktie. The mouse hadn't moved a muscle since being dropped. He was on his left side with his torso twisted in a way that had his upper body lying flat against the carpet. Only half of his face was visible. From the current angle, there was no telling if the detective was breathing or not...

 _Was_ he breathing?

He stood stark still for a moment, watching the crinkled white shirt for that ever telling rise and fall that indicated life. The shirt had been pulled out from where it was supposed to be tucked, bunching and gathering too much on the slimmer animal's back for him to be able to see properly.

For a reason he was still too shocked to comprehend, the rat slowly stood up from his chair, cigarette forgotten in his half cup of tea.

"B-Boss? What- What-" Fidget stuttered, bobbing about his feet like a nervous child.

Now standing, his towering form cast a shadow over the hero. As far as he could tell, there were no signs of abuse, no blood or bile, not even bruising.

 _'Poisoned then?'_ Anxiety begins to prickle, stabbing him, making him nauseous. _'No, that didn't sound right'_ The retch wouldn't drag Basil all the way here just to show off a corpse. The detective must be alive. Drugged perhaps?

"You've all been chosen to bear witness to my crowning moment." Bandon announces, looking like he's some human hunter about to slice into a beast. The room was dead silent. Confusion? Fear? "You do know who this is, don't you gentlemen? What about you, Professor? Recognize him?"

If looks could kill, the flesh on the ex-student's bones would have melted clean off.

"Well?" One of the henchmen standing behind Bandon handed his boss a gun. "Come on, Ratigan. You know who this is. This is your _clever_ little detective!" The statement was accentuated by a swift kick that landed around Basil's ribs. "The same mouse that you've been trying to kill for years!"

All eyes were on him again, they were waiting, holding their breath.

 _'What is this?'_ Ratigan wondered. It was like the boy was trying to rile him up, but why? The whole scene was a deranged circus that Ratigan could only describe as an execution-

Ah- That's it _... Of course_ , This was an _execution._

Now things were making _COMPLETE_ sense. Bandon was trying to humiliate him by offing the one soul Ratigan had showed mercy to. By killing Basil in front of every big crime lord in the city, he was killing two birds with one stone... Ending the life of the great mouse detective AND taking down the greatest criminal mind with one bullet.

If he had been one of the bystanders in this he would've been impressed with such a devious plan to climb to the top,

"Clever boy." Ratigan hissed through bared teeth. Gloved hands clapped together, slow and haunting. A disturbing smile spread across his face. He was done playing _nice_ with this child. An attempt made on his life was one thing, but to go after the one mouse he'd very publicly declared war against? "I do believe I've been all over London searching for that bumbling fool. Wherever did you find him?"

The gun in Bandon's hand clicked.

"Where else?" He laughed. "His _bed_."

There was an immediate rush of noise that passed through the room. Gasps, scoffs, huffs, whispers. Through his haze of angry red, he felt Fidget's grip on his pant leg tighten. He didn't have to wonder if what Bandon said was true or not. Of course they'd caught Basil at home, look at the state of clothes!

That was cheating... a type of cheating that would be fine for any other kidnapping, but not for the detective's.

Ratigan had known from the very beginning where the detective had lived. For goodness sake, he was called Basil of _Baker Street_. Any dolt could've broken into the mouse's flat and killed him where he slept, that was a simpleton's answer to dealing with things. If he'd wanted him gone that earnestly, he would have done it himself the night he'd met the boy in the abandoned dinner house. No, as he'd promised, such a death deserved one of this finest schemes. It would be the reward of one of Ratigan's dangerous games. Proof of his unrivaled genius once and for all.

An ultimate success,

A masterful villain's dream,

And if Basil were to die, and by the hands of some lowly idiot, what would be the point in all of this? He prided himself on being the smartest, on being the best. To defeat someone who was on common ground intellectually would have been his crowning achievement. Plots and plans he'd been working on since he'd met the do-gooder, sleepless nights of obsessing over what game he'll rope the detective into, the mocking, the anger, the thrill-

And that _crusty_ Bandon fellow thought he could just pull the rug out from under him?

Ha. Absolutely **_not_**.

"Now, Bandon." He tsked, brushing some imaginary dust from his shoulder. He had to think quick, act quick. The finger Bandon had on that trigger was making him anxious. "Didn't your mother ever tell you? It's rude to steal other children's toys."

"Steal?" Bandon snorted. "That nosy lunatic is everyone's enemy! I dragged him here half dead so you can all watch as I blow his brains out! Get it? My name will go down in criminal history!"

"Criminal history?" He scoffed. How well-known did he think Basil was? " _Please_ , you give that buffoon too much credit. The detective is no concern of yours, Bandon, I have made that very clear. A breach in agreed upon territory is a serious matter- Anyone here would agree."

The rat waved his arms to gesture to the rest of the room. Before he turned back, he gave his own lizard henchmen a pointed look. The lizard tilted his chin up, resting his hand on the gun at his hip.

"You've had plenty of chances to kill him, Professor. _Plenty!_ Remember the break-in at the University? We worked together on that! Your little boyfriend showed up and you completely botched the plan!"

 _False. That was FALSE._

Ratigan shook with rage. "He was only there because of _YOUR_ untidy loose ends, BANDON. _You_ led him right to us! Just as I'm sure your foolishness will lead the police to this very hideout!"

The whispers grew louder, feet began swiftly shuffling towards the door. Bandon nervously gave the other criminal's a glance, toying with the pistol in his hand

"N-No. I- I mean- I'm sure-" Slowly, the hand that held the boy's weapon dropped to his side.

 _THERE!_

He saw his chance and took it. In one quick movement, Ratigan had snatched the pistol from Bandon's hand, knocking him on his ass with a (deserved) backhand across the face. The young criminal cried out, hitting the floor like a sack of potatoes.

The pub had cleared out. The rest of the crime lords had fled, along with Bandon's men. The only other soul's left in the room were his own thugs and, of course, Basil.

" _Shit, shit."_ The boy spat, sliding backwards away from the detective with his hands raised. _"Fine._ You've got me. You win."

"It would seem so." Ratigan hummed and nodded to his second goon. It was a broad-shouldered grey mouse, tall, who stalked forward and gathered the detective off the floor. "I do hate being rebelled against,"

Bandon watched the grey mouse head for the door, saying nothing. He sat at a distance, shaking like a leaf, arms tucked around his fat self in some hilarious attempt at protection.

"-And though I can appreciate the audacity it takes to pull something like this, I cannot let it go unpunished. You tried to embarrass me. You understand, don't you?"

Bandon lifted his head at that, eyes suddenly filled with unhinged fear

"Easy-" He whimpered. "Listen. You won, Rat! You've got your toy back. Happy? That's the end of it."

"Yes, of course,"

The rat stepped to the side and the lizard behind him stepped forward, weapon clicking.

"- I win and that's the end, my dear Bandon... the end of _you_.

* * *

...

 _ **A/N:** Epilogue to follow  
_


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer-** _I do not own GMD/The Great Mouse Detective and all characters and places related belong to Walt Disney Pictures_

 ** _-Epilogue_**

* * *

 _"- I win and that's the end, my dear Bandon... the end of you "_

 ** _BANG_**

...

Basil awoke with a gasp, sweating and shaking on an unfamiliar bed in a room he didn't recognize. His head was pounding. There wasn't an inch of his body that didn't hurt, like he had been tossed from a moving wagon or stepped on by a horse,

 _Or manhandled for nearly fifteen hours?_

Right...

 _UGH Right._ He remembered bits and pieces, mostly sounds more than anything. The sound of a gunshot was still bouncing off the walls in his head, but for the life of him he couldn't recall why.

He was safe now at least, tucked away in this little bed, hand pressing to his aching side, and fire burning in a tiny cove by the armoire.

The room he'd found himself in was high-end; decent money, but by no means the trappings of a wealthy mouse. "Well off" was more like it. Not huge, but not small. He was sure his own room was only slightly smaller. If this was a guest room, and it didn't take a genius to see that it was by the lack of anything distinctly personal, it was probably the smallest room in the house... a house of at least four bedrooms if the sound of screaming children were any indication.

"Ah, You're awake!"

By the time Inspector LeGrate showed his face, Basil had already deduced who the house belonged to. Apparently, he had wound up on Legrate's doorstep some hours before. He had been unconscious, wrapped in an old blanket, and left with a note in his pocket like some unwanted orphan child.

 _Humiliating_

A doctor had since come and gone, recommending he remain where he was until the morning.

"It was our maid Ethel who'd opened the door. You were wrapped in a blanket. We kept it downstairs in the hall. I know you well enough- "

"Yes, I'd like it." The young detective rubbed at his eyes. Frustrating. This was all so _frustrating_ "What else?"

"We were in the dining room. All of us heard three heavy knocks, but not a soul was out there aside from you."

"-said your maid." he added crossly. Legrate gave him a weary look.

"She's old and reliable, I assure you. It was dinner time, too dark to see a great distance-"

"But there was no sign of anyone?" He pushed himself off his pillows, leaning forward, hands clawing at the quilt in his lap. "No tracks in the snow? Nothing?"

Odd. It was all so messy and strange. He was confused and sick and afraid and at the mercy of an official he'd only interacted with a handful of times, _each_ of those times having been to reprimand the detective for stepping over the line while on a case. He felt hot and claustrophobic. The last thing he remembered was struggling with a stranger in the dark... that had been at 10pm the night before, it was now 8pm the next day! Where had he been and how did he end up here?

"I live on a very busy street, Mr. Basil, and it has not snowed since this morning. There were plenty of tracks, but none that stood out in particular."

"Unbelievable!"

"Stay calm, boy." The inspector's voice rose a fraction and he pressed the nervous detective back onto the mattress. It was a no-nonsense kind of stern that reminded Basil of his older brother. He couldn't help but bristle at being called "boy". What age, he wondered, would he finally be considered an adult in their eyes?

"I **AM c** alm!" He shouted and flopped back onto the pillows in a huff. The impact irritated his ribs and made him hiss. "You're sure all that was on my person was this note?"

He reached out for the small slip of paper that had been set on the nightstand. Legrate plucked it off the wood and put it in Basil's outstretched hand.

"Yes, I went through your pockets. The note was tucked into your shirt."

"It's from Ratigan."

"I know, I read it."

"It looks like it had been ripped from an address book, possibly his personal one. You can still see the indents from a previous notation... 23... 238 Fagin Hall. It's a classroom."

"Unplanned then. It was scribbled down in a hurry. Very unlike the professor..."

"It doesn't make sense!" The mouse sat up again, only to be gingerly pushed back down. "And the note is all the more suspicious. Why kidnap me and then let me go? Why leave a note?"

"Perhaps," the grey mouse rubbed a spot on his face, shrugging a bit to show uncertainty. "Perhaps it was not his doing at all... Perhaps he was saddled with you by chance?"

"I've thought of that, yes." Basil ran a hand over his light brown hair, yanking before dropping the hand over his eyes. "But then why turn me over to you?"

" _That_ I don't know." The inspector rose from his chair. "But enough of this for now. Try to rest."

"I've done quite enough of that, thank you." was his curt reply. The other mouse sighed, hand squeezing the young detective's shoulder.

"It's easy to let things like this drive you mad with paranoia. Just be grateful you're safe, eh?" Legrate let go and headed for the door. "However you ended up here, whether purposely or happenstance, be grateful you're alive, Mr. Basil."

The detective's expression was stromy as he watched Legrate leave, sinking further back onto the pillows as soon as the older mouse was out of sight.

" _Be grateful_." He hissed. Sure, he was grateful... he supposed. Now, who was it he was to be grateful too? Was it truly _Ratigan_ of all creatures?

Strange. The whole mess was strange. Someone had drugged him and taken him from his bedroom, that was clear. Very frightening too that someone would go as far as to break in to his house and go after him while he slept. Nothing could be confirmed until he got home to investigate, but he was almost certain it had not been Ratigan's idea. The rat was dastardly, but to target him so unfairly? That simply wasn't the villain's style. He vividly remembered one of their first conversations together, if they could be called conversations. In the abandoned dinner house, the night before the papers released Ratigan's true identity to the public, the rat had threatened Basil's life- told him that his death would be some intricate thing...

Well, sneaking into his bedroom and drugging him useless was not intricate. For heaven's sake, he would go as far as to call it downright cowardly.

No, his kidnapping had not been the work of Professor Ratigan.

But then how had he ended up in the villain's hands? And why had Ratgian gone through the trouble of depositing him off at the residence of Inspector LeGrate?

His palm opened, eyes staring at the crinkled slip of paper from his enemy's private address book. Taking it with both hands, he gently smoothed it out over his thigh...

Beautiful cursive read:

 ** _Tut-tut, Basil_** ** _  
 **You disappoint me. Do be more careful**  
 **  
\- R**_**


End file.
